Hero
by Jedi Keladry
Summary: Chapter Six updated 13 February! Summary: Hermione's detention! Story complete.
1. Hermione

Hermione

****

Well, it was one of those great stories that you can't put down at night.

The hero knew what he had to do, and he wasn't afraid to fight.

The villain goes to jail, while the hero goes free;

I wish it were that simple for me.

XxXxXxXxX

Professor Dumbledore looked kindly at her. "I knew I could count on you, Miss Granger." He laid his hand on her shoulder in a gesture of confidence, and led her to the kitchens.

They entered through the main doorway, which Hermione had never noticed before, though she recognized the entrance she'd learned about from the twins. Professor Dumbledore recruited four house-elves for the task and gave them their instructions. They looked warily at Hermione until Professor Dumbledore explained that she could not set them free, as she was not their master. She would handle all the clothes herself.

Professor Dumbledore warned Hermione and the house-elves to return well before moonrise, as the moon was full tonight. She assured him that she wouldn't forget. Once the headmaster left, the four little beings clustered around Hermione. Each of them touched her hands or arms, and with a loud, whip-like _crack_, they were in Hagrid's hut.

It was more difficult than Hermione expected, organizing the personal effects of a loved one who had died, deciding what to distribute to his friends and what to discard. She wept as she folded Hagrid's hairy brown suit and placed it with other items that were to be discarded or donated to charity. One item Hermione kept for herself: the photograph of him and his father, taken the summer before his dad died.

Two hours later, Hermione and the house-elves had made significant progress, but they hit a snag. The house-elves had vanished, taking Fang with them, but the dog reappeared just as Hermione was preparing to leave. He was agitated, and he kept whining, so she stayed to soothe the boarhound.

A long, drawn-out howl made her mind up for her. Hermione looked out the eastern window.

Moonrise. She hadn't realized it was so late. Now she had to stay.

Hermione decided to try and get Fang to sleep, but it was not an easy task. The dog paced the floor, still whimpering, scratching at the door. He looked even more morose than usual. After an hour of trying to persuade the dog to rest, Hermione gave up and sat in Hagrid's favourite chair. She covered herself with an enormous patchwork quilt and curled up. She dozed, but woke frequently over the next several hours.

Hermione didn't want to be here. She missed Hagrid. She wished that Harry and Ron weren't so behind on revising for the N.E.W.T.s; it was lonely out here with only a dog for company.

Fang got into a snarling match with several animals outside the door around midnight. Terrified, Hermione watched him growl and scratch at the door. What if it was the Forest pack? She'd be dead or bitten by morning, if they were determined to get in; werewolves could be quite cunning. Hermione did the only thing she could think of: she stood up on the chair's seat and jumped, lifting herself into the rafters of the little hut. She clung to the beam as Fang snarled and warned the werewolves away.

She didn't know how much time had passed when Fang barked again. It wasn't threatening; it almost sounded like an announcement. Hermione heard irregular footsteps outside. They sounded human. She looked for her wand.

It was on the other side of the room. She stared at it, focused her will upon it. The irony of needing her wand to get her wand was not lost on her. "_Accio_ wand," Hermione whispered. It was a simple spell, so it should work ... _Come on_ …

The wand glanced off the tips of her fingers and fell onto the chair below her. _Hell and damn!_ Not knowing what else to do, Hermione stayed very still. The door opened. She heard ragged breathing in between Fang's booming barks. A tall, dark figure moved into the hut. It turned and shut the door, then locked it. The visitor muttered something to Fang, then spoke to the dog in a louder voice: "Good, now go away."

_Nice_. Now she knew who it was. Hermione allowed herself to blink.

A tall figure in a terrifyingly familiar mask swayed in the centre of the room. Pale hands reached up and pulled the hood off, and Professor Snape threw it to the floor. He looked terrible. _Summoned to meet with the Death Eaters. Wonder what happened to him, that he's in such bad shape_, she wondered, her eyes prickling at the sight of him so weak, so broken. _I hope he'll be okay_.

How do I tell him that I'm here? I don't want him to hex me into next week for startling him.

He shucked his robes, outer coat, and vest off right in front of her. A part of her didn't mind; indeed, as she had had a crush on this particular professor for some time, she didn't mind the view one bit. But when he began to unfasten his shirt, she knew she had to speak up. Hermione realized that bare-chested wasn't the worst it could get; what if he had to relieve himself here?! He'd have two words to say to her when he learned that she had been watching, and one of those words would be _Avada_. Hermione took a deep breath and said the first thing that came to mind: "Before you go any further, I think I should tell you that you're not alone."

He swung around, nearly losing his balance. It was the first time in seven years that she'd seen him move so gracelessly. Then she saw the wand in his hand. She gasped in panic and ducked behind the beam as best she could, thinking, _Please don't hex me, I don't want to die!_

But then he sighed, and she knew he wouldn't attack. "Miss Granger, what are you doing here?"

XxXxXxXxX

Author's notes:

It all started out with a line from a movie: "Before you go any further, I think I should tell you that you're not alone." It just built on that.

Many thanks to Janinka, Emily X, and Lis for their wonderful beta help.

**Credits:**

Harry and Co. are not mine, though I'd loooooove to borrow Severus or Remus for an hour or three in the Room of Requirement. But they belong to Jo the Great. I am not making a single Galleon, Sickle, or Knut off this story.

The "Before you go any further" line comes from the Howard Hawks film _Hatari!_

And, of course, the song lyrics are from _Hero_, sung by David Crosby, with Phil Collins: © 1991 Hidden Pun Music Inc. / Stay Straight Music (BMI). I improvised on the punctuation. It isn't the tightest fit between song lyrics and fanfic, but that's because I was halfway through the writing when I thought, _Hey, the song would fit!_


	2. Severus

**Author's note:** Forgot to mention, the chapter name indicates the point of view.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Severus

****

And the reason that she loved him was the reason I loved him, too.

And he never wondered what was right or wrong; he just knew. He just knew.

They'd dumped him at the edge of the Forest, near the hippogriff paddock. Probably hoped that he'd get mauled by one of the proud creatures, bitten by one of the local werewolves, or stomped on by Hagrid's 'little' brother. Death by centaur would be an appropriate demise for the likes of him, too.

At least the Dark Lord remained ignorant of his true loyalties. But he was running out of excuses for why he hadn't delivered Potter into his enemy's hands yet. His position in the Death Eaters' ranks had deteriorated in recent months from potion concocter and trusted spy, to potion concocter and plaything.

He rested against the low stone wall of the paddock, shivering from pain and cold. He felt himself drifting into unconsciousness. He had to fight it, damn it, he had to get up. Albus had to know. He made himself grab the low stone wall and hauled himself to his feet. He wasn't far from Hagrid's hut, and Hagrid certainly wouldn't mind him getting some rest there, before making his way to the castle.

The way to the dwelling was short enough, but it took him a long time to get there. His stomach had long ago rejected what few contents it had, but that didn't stop him from heaving repeatedly on the way. He finally made it to the worn stone steps and let himself in. It wasn't like there was anyone there for him to disturb any more, except the dog.

Fang bounded across the room, his bark echoing in the little hut. "Shhh, Fang, hush," he murmured. He held his hand out, so the boarhound could identify him. Once Fang licked his hand in recognition, he pushed the dog away with a cross, "Yes, good, now go away," and began to unbutton his robes. He heard a whispering noise, like the intake of breath, but dismissed it after a brief visual inspection of the room. It night have been the wind, but he felt uneasy, as though he was being watched. He shucked his Death Eater's robes, frock coat, and waistcoat off as quickly as he could, leaving them where he dropped them. Most unlike him, but he didn't care tonight.

He looked around. Most of Hagrid's things were already gone. He didn't know what they were going to do with Fang; the old dog resolutely refused to leave the hut and the grounds immediately surrounding it. He hoped the new groundskeeper and the boarhound would get along.

He started to unbutton his shirt when something caught his eye. He peered at the object on Hagrid's chair — was that a _wand_? Another small rustle of noise, and then a small voice reached his ears: "Before you go any further, I think I should tell you that you're not alone."

He gasped and spun, pulling his wand, scanning the hut once more with his penetrating glare. Then it registered that the voice had come from _above_. He looked up.

Bushy hair. Long-fingered, slender hands clutched the rafters. And now he recognized the wand, which shone pale in the dim light. He also recognized her voice before he drew breath to hex her into next week. "Miss Granger," he sighed, "what are you doing here?"

Large brown eyes peeked out from behind a beam. "Fang won't leave. Someone had to take care of him," she explained.

The adrenaline was still rushing through his body, enabling him to stand straight as he regarded his student. "At three o'clock in the morning? It is not safe for you here."

She raised an eyebrow and leaned over, so she could loom a little better, all righteous indignation. "Professor Dumbledore sent me," she pointed out.

"At what time?" he asked shrewdly.

She had the decency to look abashed. "Well ... five o'clock last night," she mumbled. He harrumphed. "He asked for a volunteer to assist the house-elves as they packed some of Hagrid's things up. I wanted to help."

The skin under her eyes was shadowed, and it was obvious she'd been crying. "Three weeks from your N.E.W.T.s? You should be revising."

She shrugged. Bad idea; she nearly fell. He took a step forward, alarmed, until he saw that her grip of the beam was sufficient to keep her from falling. "I'm okay," she gasped. "I can miss one night of revision, I've been doing little else since Easter," she added, struggling to right herself on the beam. "This is more important."

He was exhausted. "And where are Potter and Weasley?"

"They still need more revision."

"I don't doubt it," he muttered. The shakes were coming back, though his stomach seemed to be relaxing. "Get down from there and go back to your dormitory, Miss Granger." He leaned on the table; it kept him on his feet, and looking exasperated would, hopefully, disguise the fact that he was about to collapse.

Miss Granger gingerly let herself over the side of the beam, then swung down. She let go and dropped several feet, stumbling a little when she hit the floor. "Ouch. It's full moon tonight, sir. Besides, I can't possibly leave you alone out here."

She saw right through his ruse. _Damn._ "So Hagrid's hut is not safe for a full-grown wizard and duelling champion, but it is safe for a little, seventh-year, know-it-all witch who isn't even of age?" he snapped. _Brilliant. We're stuck here until moonset._

"As you can't even stand on your own two feet, I wouldn't talk, sir." She moved closer, looking concerned. "And I am too of age," Miss Granger grumbled. "Please, Professor Snape, let me help you."

_Hell _and _damn._ "Just leave me alone," he snapped.

"I can at least make you comfortable, sir, and then go for Madam Pomfrey or Professor Dumbledore. There doesn't seem to be anything else I can do for the Order," she griped.

His stomach lurched. "Do not speak of it so casually," he snapped, but his vehemence was lost in a nauseous gurgle. He dropped his wand and hastened to the nearest window. Flinging it open, he heaved himself dry once again. His throat burned and his eyes watered. _Damn whoever created the Cruciatus Curse. Damn them to hell._ Snape felt hands touch his shoulders, and he wondered what she was up to until he felt her firmly tuck his hair behind his ears. _Shit. I don_'_t want her involved. Why can't she just _not_ be nosy, for once in her life?!_ He hated the thought that anyone had to see him like this.

Once his stomach had stopped its mayhem, he closed the window and slid to the floor. Severus leaned heavily against the wall. He clamped firmly down on a groan, but he couldn't stop the shakes. His teeth chattered as he clutched his aching abdomen. This bout of nausea had drained the last of his energy. "_Merde_," he breathed.

He felt cloth press against his mouth, then a cup. Miss Granger's other hand cradled the back of his head in a surprisingly gentle gesture. "Don't swallow this first, just rinse your mouth out," she instructed. He glared at her, turning his head away from the cup. She looked fearful and much older than her eighteen years in the moonlight. "Please," she whispered.

Snape knew that he was in no position to put up a fight. He accepted a little water into his mouth. A white basin seemed to float under his chin in the moonlight. "Spit," she said. Resigned, he obeyed again. Pressing the cloth to his lips once more, she asked, "Do you think your stomach can handle it if you drink?"

"Yes," he growled. He idly wondered if anyone could die of mortification or embarrassment. He could coin a new phrase: _fatally _embarrassed.

As he accepted a sip of water from the cup that Miss Granger held, Snape decided he'd never live this down. She was even holding the mug, like he was a child, for Merlin's sake! He reached up to take it, but she drew the cup away. "No," she said gently. Her hand reached back, under his hair, to support his head again. "Your hands are shaking too much, you'll spill." Miss Granger pressed the vessel to his mouth, and he took another sip. "You ... you feel feverish, sir," she said, looking concerned. Her fingers trailed along his neck, standing his hair on end, and her palm pressed against his cheek. "I _can _go —"

"No," he cried, looking into her anxious eyes. What kind of an idiot was she, offering to set foot outside while the full moon was above the horizon?! She had just pointed out that she couldn't leave.

"Shhht," she murmured, hand on his shoulder. "I'm just worried for you, sir."

What kind of rubbish was that?! Miss Granger hated him, she had to hate him after everything he'd said and done, these last seven years. "Have to protect Dumbledore's pet," Snape groused. She looked hurt, but she didn't say anything. She just pressed the cup to his lips again, her thumb drifting over his sharp cheekbone.

She looked across the room, then back at him, her brow wrinkled in thought. "Wait a moment, sir," she instructed. Snape closed his eyes and curled in on himself, willing his trembling muscles to relax. He heard a rustling noise. "Sir, I need you to move," she began.

He looked at her with all the venom he could muster. _Are you blind?_

She seemed to shrink a little, but she gestured to a quilt that she had just laid out on the floor. "Just shift your weight," Miss Granger explained.

Snape decided that he must really be exhausted, for him not to know what she was up to, and blindly obey. Still, he pocketed his dignity and tried to comply once again. Miss Granger knelt behind him and wrapped her arms around his chest, trying to help. He feebly brushed at her hands, muttering, "Geroff." Stubborn as a mule, that girl was. She guided him onto the blanket. He collapsed, coughing.

"_Wingardium Leviosa_," she said, swishing and flicking perfectly. The quilt rose into the air, corners straining to reach the ceiling, cradling him in a large hammock of fabric.

It was at that moment that he gave up trying to second-guess Miss Granger. He'd never live this down.

The quilt, still carrying him, settled onto the bed. She tugged his boots off, then wrapped the edges of the quilt over him. He was still embarrassed, but he had to tell her something. "Don't —" he began, looking anxiously up at her.

"I won't," she interrupted. Miss Granger found his hand and pressed it between both of hers. "I'll only tell Professor Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey about this. I swear it. Just go to sleep, Professor Snape, you need to rest."

That wasn't what he was going to say, though he was glad of the reassurance that she would keep her mouth shut. He trusted her. He had to. Of all the students in this school, she was more dependable and honest than any other. That comparison left a lot of room for improvement, but its implications were accurate, nonetheless. "Find Albus," Snape muttered, closing his eyes. He began to drift into slumber.

"What's the password to his office?"

"Azcid pop," he slurred.

"He'll be here soon," Miss Granger promised.

Though it hurt, he nodded, satisfied. His last conscious thought was to remind her not to go outdoors, but he couldn't wake himself enough to voice it. That was what he was going to say when she interrupted: _Don't go out there. Wait until moonset._ Surely the warning would be unnecessary. She may be a Gryffindor, but she was still a sensible little witch.

As he drifted into sleep, he dreamt something pleasant. But that was impossible; he always had nightmares after his gatherings with the Death Eaters ...

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Author's notes:

Gratitude to Janinka, Emily X, and Lis for their help.

For those who wondered what happened to Hagrid, he died on top-secret Order business. I could tell you what happened, but then I'd have to kill you. (Just kidding.)

Thanks go out to Topps, Intelligent Witch, Azulkan2, Horserider, Venomequeen-83, Nore, Auroraziazan, and Coeur d'Obscurite for reviewing. I live for reviews, and eight reviews in four days is utter bliss. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

_Merde_ is French for shit.

Credits:

Harry and Co. are not mine, though I'd loooooove to borrow Severus or Remus for an hour or three in the Room of Requirement. But they belong to Jo the Great. I am not making a single Galleon, Sickle, or Knut off this story.

The "Before you go any further" line comes from the Howard Hawks film _Hatari!_

"Fatally embarrassed" is by Berke Breathed, creator of the classic comic strip _Bloom County_. Opus rocks forever!

And, of course, the song lyrics are from _Hero_, sung by David Crosby.


	3. Hermione

**Hermione**

****

Shadows and shapes mix together at dawn,

But by the time you catch them, simplicity's gone.

So we sort through the pieces, my friends and I,

Searching through the darkness to find the breaks in the sky.

He closed his eyes, and began to relax under the quilt. Its riotous colours contrasted sharply with his pale face and black hair. In spite of his prejudices and unkind comments over the years, she'd always respected Professor Snape. How could she not? He had protected her and Ron and Harry time and time again. He even honestly thought he was watching over them, that time in the Shrieking Shack; he just didn't know the whole story.

He'd asked her to find Professor Dumbledore. He continued to tremble, even in his sleep. He must be in a lot of pain, for him to submit to being cared for by a loathed student so easily. _Relatively _easily. This was Professor Snape, after all; he'd still put up a fuss.

And she had cared for him for two years. Ever since the summer after her fifth year, when he'd been laid up after an injury. He'd had to stay at Grimmauld Place for two weeks, because Madam Pomfrey was there, too, doing work for the Order. For the first time, Hermione saw the shoulders under those teaching robes. She had heard him laugh. Actually laugh out loud, and she'd been completely poleaxed by it. Hermione had pondered the paradox for days: such a warm, golden sound from such a dark, cold man. She decided that she liked it. And Hermione discovered that she liked to look at him.

Malfoy and Parkinson and the other Slytherin gits never got under her skin; Hermione could shrug away the barbs that they aimed at her, though insults aimed at Harry, Ron, and the other Gryffindors were harder to shake off. But when Professor Snape spoke, Hermione listened. Even when he was cruel — _stupid girl_ ... _know-it-all_ ... _insufferable_ — she still absorbed whatever he said. Even when it hurt. She tried, at first, to minimize the damage, telling herself that she was simply obligated to listen to a teacher. Upon further examination, however, Hermione resigned herself to the fact that when she thought of Professor Snape, she felt more than just the respect that a teacher was due.

For the lack of a better word, she was still enchanted, even two years later. Hermione taught herself to handle it maturely, to work around it, how to nurse herself through the hurts to which she had opened herself. She tried to talk herself out of her feelings, using the logic that had saved her life before; she told herself that it was completely inappropriate for a student to form an attachment for her teacher. Severus Snape was two decades her senior. He was harsh and mercurial.

He was also brilliant. He was attractive. Worst of all, he had a streak of ... principle, or honour, for lack of a better term, that ran through him. He was good. A colossal git, but good. He was courageous and hard-working. He risked so much for the Order. Hermione was sure that tonight was not the only time that Snape had returned home injured; he had missed several classes these past two years. He would have to be near death to ignore his teaching duties.

Hermione shook herself out of her reverie and focussed again on the man in front of her. She still held his hand, which she'd taken to seal her promise, that she wouldn't talk about his incapacitation. Her insides seemed to giggle a little as a new thought occurred to her. She knew that she shouldn't touch him at all, but how often did a woman get a chance like this? Knowing him, this would be her only opportunity to do anything about it. To commit his features to memory by means of touch, as she already had by sight.

Reaching out, Hermione touched the vertical fissure that ran above his nose. She ran her fingertip over it, and the wrinkle shallowed slightly. Hermione frowned; he was too young to look so old. Not even forty. Touching her thumb and middle finger to the bridge of his nose, she slowly spread her hand, tracing the slight arches of his black eyebrows. The crow's feet at the corners of his eyes seemed to relax. Encouraged by this reaction, Hermione ran her finger down the length of his long, broad nose. She rested the tip of her thumb in the dent on his upper lip.

In his sleep, the generous lips pursed, just a little, under her hand.

It was insane, what she was thinking, but she had the perfect chance. He'd never know, and Fang would never tell. Hermione still held his hand in her own. She prayed that he wouldn't stir, and bent forward.

She felt like a clod. It wasn't much, as kisses went. He certainly wouldn't think it was worthy of his notice, were he conscious. Just after she placed her lips upon his, his mouth opened in a sigh. She jerked back, startled, but he didn't move again. Hermione was grateful that he didn't wake from her hair flopping in his face. After another moment of hesitation, Hermione pulled her mane back with one hand and kissed him again.

She felt his lips respond, pressing very gently against hers.

_Oh, glory._ On some level, her touch was welcome. A comfort. She rejoiced in it, and was glad that she had used her first kiss for a good purpose. It was a pity that she was the only one who would remember it.

Snape's breath rattled in his chest, and Hermione winced. This was no time for daydreams. He'd asked her to find Professor Dumbledore. She knew what that meant, and she was terrified.

She moved to the window, peering into the darkness. There was a full moon out there, hanging fat and low in the sky. The trees all blended together, making a black-and-green mass outside the window. The moon's glare was so bright, she couldn't see the stars in that half of the sky. Hermione gnawed her lip, hoping that most of the Forest pack would be more concerned with their imminent transformations than with biting one lone human girl.

She cursed the anti-Apparation spells that cloaked the grounds, but she was only a few hundred metres from the Quidditch pitch. The broom shed was even closer.

Hermione picked her wand up with a shaking hand. Damn, she hated to fly. But there was nothing for it. Professor Snape had asked her to find Professor Dumbledore. It must be important. And she had to find Madam Pomfrey, he was shaking so badly. Hermione couldn't interpret symptoms; she wasn't a mediwitch, but even she could tell that he was in bad shape.

Keeping the door closed, she unlatched the bolt. "Fang, stay with Professor Snape," she ordered. The dog laid by the bed with a gusty sigh. She lifted the latch with a trembling hand, her wand in her sweaty palm. "One ... two ... three."

She shut the door behind her and ran into the night.

XxXxXxXxX

It all started out with a line from a movie: "Before you go any further, I think I should tell you that you're not alone." It just built on that.

Many thanks to Janinka, Emily X, and Lis for their help at various stages of writing.

Credits:

Harry and Co. are not mine, though I'd loooooove to borrow Severus or Remus for an hour or three in the Room of Requirement. But they belong to Jo the Great. I am not making a single Galleon, Sickle, or Knut off this story.

Taking advantage of a man who doesn't have the strength to protest, well, Chris Reeve (gorgeous creature, bless him) was the inspiration for that in the first _Superman _movie.

And, of course, the song lyrics are from _Hero_, sung by David Crosby: © 1991 Hidden Pun Music Inc. / Stay Straight Music (BMI). I improvised on the punctuation.

**azulkan2:** Hope a week counts as soon. Here you go!

**coeur d'obscurite: **I don't think that Snape cares much for physical appearances, but he does care how he's perceived by others. He has his reasons for being so hateful; I think it's 'cause he sees kindness as weakness, and barbed comments as a show of strength.

**KnightMaria:** Yeah, I must be a sadist. I hurt my characters, or make them sick, to bring their pre-destined beloved into closer physical proximity. Hee hee hee!

**June:** Thanks! Since Hagrid was so big, I don't think he'd fit through most fireplaces, so he never bothered to have Floo powder around. The hearth is hooked up, but it's like a car with no petrol.

**Jareth's Pixie Princess:** You sound like JarJar. (Seen the cover of this month's _Vanity Fair_ magazine? Everyone's on it, go get it!) Thanks for the compliment on my writing, I appreciate it.

**Natsuyori:** I wouldn't mind tucking Severus in, either, and maybe giving him a kiss good night, too, and then … sorry, where was I?

**TresOrleans:** Fatal sex appeal … what a phrase. Yes, that's quite applicable.

**Catch:** Too true, too true, Catch. Humans cannot Apparate on the Hogwarts grounds. But House-elves can transport themselves magically anywhere. (See Dobby's disappearance after Harry freed him from Mr Malfoy, at the end of CoS.) I took artistic licence to say that they can transport other things, animals, and even people on the grounds, since they're doing it with _their _magic. Each of the four house-elves touched Hermione, and used their magic to transport her. Hermione didn't Apparate.


	4. Severus

Severus

****

And the reason that she loved him was the reason I loved him, too.

And he never wondered what was right or wrong; he just knew. He just knew.

He was hovering over the Quidditch pitch, his broom slowly sinking. A pack of werewolves prowled below him. One of them turned into Black, who howled and waved mockingly. Another beast growled, making Severus' heart race in terror. He still remembered what this werewolf sounded like, even though Black's failed attempt at murder was over twenty years ago. Severus saw Lupin down there, too, and his snarls were the loudest. His autumn fur stood up in a large ruff around his neck.

Black, still in human form, ran to the edge of the playing field. He reached into the wall and dragged a person, cloaked in Death Eater robes, onto the pitch. From the cries of terror that issued from under the mask, Severus could tell that it was a young woman. He tried to direct the broom in her direction, to help her, but all he could do was hover. He felt about his robes for his wand, but it wasn't there. Severus was horrified; he couldn't do anything but watch.

Black called to the other werewolves, who turned as one and ran toward the cloaked figure. Severus tried to think of something, even jumped from his broom and ran at them, yelling at the top of his lungs to distract them, but he was too late.

She screamed for Snape to help her as the pack surrounded, attacked, and tore at Hermione.

Severus sat up in an unfamiliar bed, shaking all over. He was frightened, genuinely frightened by his nightmare. Was it real? He wasn't sure. It had been so vivid. The dream before that was vivid, too, but of a different kind ... soft and gentle, like the touch of a willing woman. Sweet smelling ... lilacs?

Hell. How would he know what a willing woman felt like? His mind must still be addled from this evening's ... misadventures, for him to be thinking of such rubbish. Miss Granger didn't really count as a willing woman, anyway. She had touched him because she had to; no one had ever wanted to touch the broken-down, dungeon-dwelling bat.

_Miss Granger. _He took deep breaths to calm himself, and cast his eyes about the hut. The sky outside the eastern window was light, but the sun hadn't risen yet. Moonlight painted a large white square in the middle of the room shining through the window that faced west. If he could just see her, he'd be able to go right back to sleep, even though the Forest pack howled out there. He needed to see that she was all right. "Miss Granger?"

Silence. Where was she? Miss Granger should still be in here. There was no way she'd be stupid enough to leave shelter, so close to the Forbidden Forest, between the rising and setting of a full moon. A sour tickle of fear uncurled in his gut. "Miss Granger?" he called again.

Fang's huff was the only reply that he got. She was gone.

Snape cursed. _Why the hell would she leave? What did I say? Nothing harsher than the usual, surely_ ...

_Leave me alone. But she refused. Where are Potter and Weasley? I was about to ask her to stay, but she interrupted_ ...

_Oh, no._

_Find Albus._

_Damned foolish child, she went as soon as I was asleep!_ He staggered to the door on trembling legs. Rather than compound her mistake with one of his own, he fumbled through his discarded robes for his wand. Once it was in his hand, Severus initiated a spell, uttered a message, and sealed the spell. He opened the window.

The message bubble he had just conjured would fly directly to Albus; it was fast, silent, and almost undetectable. It was an ideal spell for communication over short distances. The bubble would burst and voice itself when touched by a wand or the intended recipient's flesh, but it could audibly bash itself against a door or window for hours without breaking.

Frightened and shaking, Snape paced until he stumbled, tripping over his own two feet, and fell flat on his face. Cursing in Latin and Greek, he hauled himself to Hagrid's bed, wrapped himself in the quilt, and waited for an answer. Fang jumped up beside him, and he laid his hand on the huge dog's back, his warm bulk a comfort.

XxXxXxXxX

Author's Notes:

Many thanks to Janinka, Emily X, and Lis for their help at various stages of writing.

Harry and Co. are not mine, though I'd loooooove to borrow Severus or Remus for an hour or three in the Room of Requirement. But they belong to Jo the Great. I am not making a single Galleon, Sickle, or Knut off this story.

And, of course, the song lyrics are from _Hero_, sung by David Crosby: © 1991 Hidden Pun Music Inc. / Stay Straight Music (BMI). I improvised on the punctuation.

**Replies (the good part):**

**Azulkan2: **Oh, yeah. I'd give real money for the chance to lay one on those lips … sorry, where was I?

**TresOrleans: **I hope you will continue to like my version of Snape … I usually write him as a recluse who is snarky to keep up the necessary appearances. After all, we only see him through Harry's eyes in canon; we really have no idea what's going on behind those bottomless eyes. Many fanfic writers portray him as a sex god, I prefer to see him as more reticent around women.

**Holly:** Thanks for the review! I'm glad I've put some subtlety into this.

**SexySeverus:** Okay, can I just say that I looooove your handle? I have to hiss it out, like I was speaking Parseltongue: "Sssexy Ssssseverusss." It certainly fits him. Is this enough of a hurry, my dear?


	5. Hermione

Hermione

****

And we wonder, yes we wonder: how do you make sense of this,

When the hero kills the maiden with his kiss?

A big mug of tea in her hands, Hermione sat in the headmaster's office. She was still shaking from her wobbly flight to the school, even though it had only lasted a minute or two. "But, sir," she protested for the seventh time, "Professor Snape needs your help, he's badly injured, we can't wait until moonset. Isn't there another way out there, a secret passage, or something?" She plucked at the edge of the blanket that Professor Dumbledore had offered when she'd staggered into the office.

"Not that I know of, Miss Granger," Professor Dumbledore gravely replied. "My child, even I do not know all the secrets that this castle holds. Actually, the Marauders probably knew more about it than I do, and this castle has been my home for over a century.

"Professor Snape is made of sterner stuff than you give him credit for. You should not have risked your life by leaving Hagrid's. You also should not have been out there after moonrise, Miss Granger, I warned you about that." Hermione frowned; she'd explained what had happened, and why she had done what she had. "I am as concerned for Professor Snape as you are, and but, based on what you have told me, I believe he will keep for a few hours more. He was sleeping when you left him, was he not?"

"Yes, sir." _I already told you so._ She took a sip of her tea, then set the mug aside.

"That in itself is a very good sign." Professor Dumbledore walked to the window, looking in the direction of Hagrid's hut. Hermione grew tired of watching the headmaster watch the grounds, and closed her eyes.

The sky was bright when she awoke, that beautiful indigo colour that heralded a new day. But the light didn't wake her; it was sound. A sharp _clink_ roused her from her uncomfortable slumber in one of Professor Dumbledore's chairs. She got out of the chair and stretched, easing the kinks out of her neck and shoulders.

Clink.

Intrigued, she went to the window. She didn't see anything until the sound repeated itself again, then caught a glimpse of a clear bubble outside, tapping against the window. It looked like an ordinary soap bubble, faint colours drifting over its translucent surface. She opened the window.

The bubble zoomed into the room as the sun began to peek over the mountains to the east. She followed the bubble with her eyes as it floated up, through the door that sat off the little staircase in the office. The door was cracked, and a moment later, she heard Professor Snape's voice. It was loud enough that she heard every word:

"_In Bullare Memoriae Mandare_. Albus, I will disclose what happened in the meeting when I see you in person. But Miss Granger is out on the grounds, I mistakenly asked her to find you without telling her to wait for moonset. If she has not arrived, you must search immediately, you have to find her. I heard the pack close to the hippogriff paddock when I arrived. They might still be close enough to the castle to hurt her.

"You have to find her, Albus. I am in Hagrid's hut, and I will be fine until sunrise, but Miss Granger —" They heard a deep, shaky breath, a severe expletive muttered twice. "_In Bullare Oratiuncula_."

Hermione digested the message. What fascinated her was not the words, though the message had been mostly about her. What interested her was how frightened he sounded. It almost didn't sound like Professor Snape.

Professor Dumbledore emerged from the room a moment later, eyeing Hermione oddly. "You heard," he said.

She nodded; it was useless to deny it. "Yes, sir."

He sighed as he descended the steps. "Miss Granger, you must not interpret Professor Snape's message as anything more than concern for a student," he began. Hermione blushed. "I am aware of your infatuation with him —"

Hermione cringed and mouthed the same profanity that she'd heard a moment before. What if Dumbledore found out that she'd kissed Professor Snape? She'd be neck-deep in fewmets.

"— I do not believe that he is aware of it —"

Thank goodness for small favours.

"— yet." She shivered. "You are prudent, Miss Granger. I must ask you to keep last night's events, as well as the existence and content of the message, to yourself."

"I understand; of course, sir."

For the first time since Hagrid's death, the smile actually reached Professor Dumbledore's eyes. "I shall miss having you and your friends as students, my dear. Now, I want you to run an errand for me, and then go to your dormitory and sleep. You are excused from today's classes; you may study, but only after you have slept for at least five hours," he said sternly. She nodded. "I shall have the house-elves send breakfast up to your room."

"What's the errand, sir?"

"Inform Madam Pomfrey of Professor Snape's condition and location, and send her here. She and I will take care of him as soon as the moon sets."

"Yes, sir." She got out of her chair. "Oh, the broom —"

"Madam Pomfrey and I shall also return the broom to its shed."

"Thank you, sir." Hermione left the office.

* * *

She obeyed the headmaster, getting some sleep. Then Hermione spent the afternoon in the library, going over the material she had missed in classes today. She caught up with Ron after Charms. "Hey," she said. "Where's Harry?"

"Off to pick Ginny up."

"Of course," Hermione chuckled. Now that Harry and Ginny had finally worked out their awkwardness and bad timing, they were practically inseparable.

"Why weren't you in classes today?" Ron asked.

"The job out at Hagrid's took longer than I thought. Full moon last night, so I had to stay, and the pack kept me awake."

"Aw, Hermione," Ron said, putting his arm around her shoulders. She chuckled and let him hold her for a moment, then removed his arm. The Hufflepuffs, including Susan, were exiting their classroom just around the corner. Wouldn't do for Susan to see her man with his arm draped around another girl. "Oh, Harry said that Snape wasn't in class today, either." Hermione nodded noncommittally. "I'm glad I don't need a N.E.W.T. in Potions to play Quidditch professionally," Ron declared. "Five years with the old bat is quite enough, thank you." He laughed.

Hermione frowned. "I don't understand you, Ron. You've seen what he does, and even you can deduce a possible reason as to why he wasn't teaching today. Would you please just accept the fact that you don't know him? I certainly don't, and we've spent as much time with him as anyone not in Slytherin. There has to be something good about Snape, not just what he does, but what he _is_, Ron. There's good in everyone, except maybe Voldemort."

"Whatever, Hermione." Ron gestured to his left. "Go on, I'll catch up."

Hermione nodded as Ron entered the loo, and scowled as she resumed her march down the corridor. "Though hell will freeze over before he thanks me for anything I did last night." She hated that she felt disappointed. She knew that she should know better.

Footsteps. Expecting Ron, Hermione turned.

Student and Potions Master regarded each other. Hermione tried, but she couldn't keep the relief off her face. "Good afternoon, sir." _You're looking well._

"Detention. Eight o'clock, my classroom."

Hermione flinched and felt her eyes prickle. _Damn it, damn it, damn it! I deserve this; I deserve every bit of hurt he dishes out, because I welcome it._ She looked at the floor. "Yes, sir," she whispered. "Excuse me." She darted into a girls' lavatory before he could say another word.

She sat on the floor of one of the stalls for a long time, clutching her head in her hands, grateful that she wouldn't have to see him nearly as much once term ended. She was tired of giving a damn about what he said, tired of wanting someone she couldn't have, tired of caring for a man who didn't.

* * *

Author's Notes and Credits:

Harry and Co. are not mine, though I'd loooooove to borrow Severus or Remus for an hour or three in the Room of Requirement. But they belong to Jo the Great. I am not making a single Galleon, Sickle, or Knut off this story.

Many thanks to Janinka, Emily X, and Lis for their help at various stages of writing.

_In Bullare Memoriae Mandare_ and _In Bullare Oratiuncula_: direct Latin translation for "Remember the message in a bubble," and "Seal the message in a bubble," if I remember correctly. I turned the Latin-English dictionary back in to the library months ago. I don't know Latin, so the syntax might be off, but I created the spell months ago for another fic, wanting a few original spells instead of using Jo the Great's all the time.

In case you haven't read Madeline L'Engle, fewmets are a fancy term for dragon poop.

And, of course, the song lyrics are from _Hero_, sung by David Crosby© 1991 Hidden Pun Music Inc. / Stay Straight Music (BMI). I improvised on the punctuation.

Thanks for the reviews!

**Natsuyori**: Okay! Here you go!

**strega-in-progress: **I thought I was the only one who blew friends and other obligations off for fanfiction. (Bad llama!)

**duj: **He told her to find Dumbledore. He _meant_ for her to stay until moonset, but he was too wiped out to say much of anything. And I don't know about you, but I don't think too clearly at three a.m., after having been awake most of the night. Hermione wasn't, and her concern for him was greater than concern for herself.


	6. Severus

Severus

****

Well, it was one of those great stories that you can't put down at night.

The hero knew what he had to do, and he wasn't afraid to fight.

The villain goes to jail, while the hero goes free;

I wish it were that simple for me.

Miss Granger had looked quite weary when he finally saw her the next afternoon, but she was all right. Albus had assured him that the Forest pack had not caught her, that she had flown — _flown!_ — straight to his office ...

She was almost a joke among the Quidditch players and referees for her reticence — okay, terror — when it came to flying. All the more so, because she excelled at everything else. Snape himself gloated many times; it seemed that her fabled Gryffindor courage failed her, for she hadn't mounted a broom since the conclusion of flying lessons, her first year. But he'd been shocked speechless when Albus had arrived in the hut, broom in hand. Severus knew exactly what its presence, and the old goat's smug expression, meant.

Hermione Granger was not a Cowardly Lion after all.

Poppy had administered a potion to help with the shakes, and then conjured a stretcher. Snape had protested about being seen like this, until Albus pulled a silvery Cloak out from his voluminous robes. He and Poppy got Severus up to a private room in the infirmary with no one the wiser.

By mid-afternoon, he felt almost human again.

He saw her in a corridor, laughing about something with Weasley. Sudden fear clutched at him. _Did she tell? Are they laughing at me?_ Even as he thought it, he knew it was unlikely. Damn near impossible; she had promised. Even now, he trusted her to keep her mouth shut.

He ducked into an alcove as they approached, followed her, and assigned a detention. He had overheard her muttered comment about him, and wanted to prove her wrong, but it had to be done in a manner that wouldn't make her believe he'd gone insane ...

Snape knew full well that he was contrary as a cat. The more Miss Granger tried to prove her intellect in her first four years, the less impressed he was. Her drive to be at the summit of the Hogwarts heap of hellions seemed to be an ignoble goal, if she truly believed that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was still to be permanently defeated. Even after her fourth year, as a friend of Potter's and soon to be a member of the Order of the Phoenix, she — of all people — should be beating Albus' door down, trying to help with matters that would make a difference in the war. She kept working on that ridiculous pet project of hers, called Hurl or Puke … something like that.

It was some time in her fifth year that he began to notice a change in her.

If he asked the class a question, she would raise her hand as she always did. But she no longer seemed so frustrated when he refused to call on her. Her essays used to be at least double the required length, but since she began her N.E.W.T.-level classes, she had shortened her papers to a more manageable length by increasing the potency of her words. The first time she displayed evidence of performing outside research, Snape had been furious, believing her to be plagiarising someone else's work — until he found a footnote that credited the journal article and author properly. It was not a journal to which Hogwarts subscribed, either; she'd found it somewhere else. Flourish and Blotts, probably, though it was a rather esoteric publication. Frankly, he had no idea how a sixth-year Muggle-born student even knew of this journal's existence.

Snape originally believed that Miss Granger showed off because she was incapable of much independent thought. She was very good at regurgitating facts properly, after all. But by the time she had reached her seventh year, her essays and ideas belied that theory. Not only had she shown evidence of being capable of thinking creatively, she had made _him _think. It was a new experience for him, to be led down a new path by one of his students, but he adapted, albeit grudgingly at first.

He made it a regular practice now to find her essays and set them aside. He would read Miss Granger's papers last, so he could end his marking in a decent frame of mind.

She had so much potential. Too much to risk her life and her safety for the likes of him, no matter how valuable to the Order he was. Detention tonight would teach her not to undervalue herself. Then he would allow her to learn of his respect for her. He owed her that after last night, and Severus Snape paid his debts.

XxXxX

Four hours after his run-in with Miss Granger in the corridor, Severus waited in his classroom. She rushed in with twenty seconds to spare. "Good evening, sir," she panted.

"You will scrub those cauldrons," he said without preamble, gesturing to the pile his first-years had left behind that afternoon, "without magic."

She frowned, and he knew exactly why. This was only the fourth time she had earned detention in her entire seven years here. Each of the last two times, he'd requested that she work with him; it was rare that he had the chance to have such competent help, and he took advantage of it. But scrubbing cauldrons was dunderheads' work, and she knew it. "Is there a problem?" he asked.

"Sir, isn't there something I can be doing that would be of better use to you?" _Work that I'd enjoy more?_

He folded his hands on his desk and spoke slowly, as if she was six years old. "Miss Granger, last night could easily have ended in disaster for you, me, and Professor Dumbledore's crowd. The Forest pack could have seen its number increase by one last night. You were careless and irresponsible. I think that this is appropriate work for you, based on your recent behaviour." That should teach her to value her own life so cheaply.

Agitation fairly blasted off her, but she turned and did as she was told. He noticed that she stood with her back to him. She remained silent as she worked, except for the times that she blew her nose.

She finished quickly, though she hadn't skimped on her work at all. Good girl. He'd been watching, but he didn't look up when she approached the desk. "Sir, I've finished the cauldrons." He harrumphed, and noticed from his peripheral vision that she shook and twisted her arm a little, apparently trying to ease an ache. "Is there anything else I can do before I go?"

His hand froze over the essay he was grading, and he looked up in surprise. Sixteen years of teaching, sixteen years of miserable students in detention, and not a single one had ever offered to do more work before leaving. She was insane.

And quite remarkable.

It was already after curfew, so he had to make this quick. After last night's events, he'd given a lot of thought to what he was about to do. Irresponsible and careless she may have been, but Hermione had also eased his suffering considerably. She had braved the horrors that the Forest under a full moon held, to help him. She had flown to help him. "Come with me," he ordered. Severus led the way through his storeroom, office, and into his private quarters. When he entered his sitting room, he turned to face his student.

Her eyes were huge as she looked at the shelves that lined every available inch of wall space. He had no expenses, living here, and he spent much of his salary on his book collection. "Breathe, Hermione," he ordered.

She inhaled raggedly. "Oh, glory," she muttered. Thousands of volumes.

He suppressed a smile. Here was a woman after his own heart. He'd spent two hours this afternoon, pondering which book to give her, but she didn't need to know that. Severus casually pulled the volume from a shelf, trying to make it look like it was a random choice, and handed it to her. "In thanks," he muttered.

She opened the book reverently. She read the front and back of the title page.

Her reaction was priceless. "O ... oh," was all Hermione Granger was able to stutter out before she sat down hard on the stone floor.

He was pleased by her reaction; he'd seen her reading a flimsily-bound copy of this same book many times, over the past few years. _Jane Eyre_ was one of his favourites, but he was willing to part with this item, as he knew it would pass into hands that cared as much as he did. It was a first edition, passed down through his family, and his old maiden Aunt Morgana had given it to him.

"You ..." she squeaked, looking up at him. "But you hate me," she said in disbelief.

He let himself smile slightly. It was a tool, just like his glares and frowns were. Her jaw dropped in shock as he crouched down in front of her. "Diamonds are created through crushing pressure. My students go into the world as well-crafted as I can make them." She raised a sceptical eyebrow; she apparently couldn't believe what she was hearing. "I have never hated you, Hermione. I have come to respect you, despite the fact that you are a first-rate pain in the posterior."

She snorted, then began to laugh. This was not the reaction he was expecting. "Would you mind telling me what you find amusing?" he growled.

She guffawed quietly for a moment longer. "With all due respect, Severus, you have just described yourself perfectly."

Circe, she was brave; not just the comment she'd lobbed back at him, but her use of his given name. Severus decided to humour her. "So we understand each other," he prompted. He held a hand out, and they stood together.

"I don't understand you at all," she confessed, straightening her jumper and skirt. "But I like you anyway."

_That_ was a surprise. He could see that she was as surprised by her own words as he was. He was taken aback even more when he saw how her face coloured, and it hit him.

Hermione Granger did not just like him. She _liked_ him.

He'd had no clue. Several girls and one boy that he knew of had suffered silly infatuations for him over the years, and not quite knowing how to handle them, he had been more severe than usual upon his hapless students.

Before he could think of what to say, she extended her right hand. Her left arm protectively curled around her new treasure. "Thank you for the book, sir; it's one of my favourites. And I would appreciate it if, erm ..." Her blush deepened.

For once, he knew what to say. She was handling this like an adult, not like some tittering teenager. He grasped her hand warmly, though his features remained impassive. "I will exchange my silence in this matter for your own about last night."

She smiled crookedly. "You already had that, Severus."

He liked the way she said his name. The middle syllable almost disappeared, making it sound like "Sev'rus." It was five weeks to the end of term; he didn't mind her using his given name, as this was a private conversation. Just for tonight, as the circumstances were certainly unusual.

"Though it was unwise of you to leave Hagrid's. What if the pack had caught you?" he murmured, allowing a hint of last night's fear for her show on his face.

She worried her lip a little, begging him to understand and believe her. "I _was _scared," she admitted. "But I was more scared for you. You needed help; you were still shaking, even after you fell asleep."

Snape frowned. "How much longer _did _you stay?"

Blushing furiously, Hermione muttered, "I'm not sure. Maybe fifteen, twenty minutes."

He puzzled over her unease, but decided not to pursue it now. "You were helpful last night, Hermione, and I am grateful."

Hermione beamed, squeezing his hand. "Do you have any idea how long I have wanted to hear a kind word from you? To hear you say something ... anything like that?"

Without the smile and the warm tone of her voice to gentle her words, he would have taken what she said for criticism, and armed himself with a harsh retort. But her words sounded like thanks. He had finally done something right.

He had always thought that power laid in making others feel smaller, and he would be better by comparison. But now that he'd told Hermione this one thing, and it wasn't even that significant, he felt ten feet tall. He didn't understand, and if there was one thing Severus Snape loathed, besides Gryffindors in general and Potters specifically, it was not understanding something. But he liked the way he made her feel. "You have always deserved it."

She beamed at him for a moment, and then her expression turned thoughtful. "But Malfoy wouldn't like it one bit," she murmured. "Neither would his father, or V ... er, You-Know-Who."

She _did_ understand him, though she professed not to. Severus suddenly felt quite tired and sad. He was truly a git, and he usually enjoyed being intimidating. It encouraged his students to keep their distance, instead of coming to him with problems that he didn't know how to handle. But it took so much out of him.

Just once he wanted to be compassionate. To accept that he was not alone in the world, that there was someone else out here like him; someone with a similar mind. Someone who knew him a little, and liked him anyway. To have a _friend_, someone he respected and even liked in some capacity, in his arms ...

Severus stepped forward, using her hand to draw her near. She didn't recoil, though her face registered mild surprise. He closed his eyes as he gingerly put his arms around Hermione Granger. If she objected, he'd know immediately.

Her free arm wound around his torso, holding him firmly.

She accepted him.

Her forehead rested against his jaw, it was so ... heartening. Even Severus hadn't been sure that there _was_ a soul under all those buttons and robes. One of his Muggle-born students, a few years back, had called Snape the world's only living heart donor.

It was wonderful and dead depressing, that he knew he could still feel.

He lost himself in a cycle of hopes and regrets. Her hair smelled good, like lilacs, and his right hand drifted up to finger one of the wild, mousy locks. Severus wasn't sure how long they stood there; it was probably only a few minutes, but then Hermione's brow moved against his cheek. She was tilting her face up. He pulled away, just far enough to look at her face.

He saw a kiss in her eyes. She would have let him, if he tried, but he knew better. Albus seemed to have eyes on his arse, the way he knew damn near everything that happened in this castle. Looking into Hermione's eyes, Severus was shocked to find that he did want to kiss her. He settled for running his thumb over her lips, which parted under the caress. "You know I can't," he murmured. Then he winced. _Brilliant, Snape. You just admitted to the girl that you want to kiss her._

She looked down and nodded. "I'd better go." Her skin grew warm under his fingers, and he released her.

"Hermione, if you tell a soul, including those precious friends of yours, I will hunt you down, do you understand me?" He smiled to gentle the threat, though he meant it.

She smiled. "I thought we already agreed on that," she said.

Even as he wanted her to care for him, he knew he had to be honest. "I am not a nice man, Hermione. I cannot be pleasant, even for you."

"We both work and fight for what we believe in. I don't know what your motives were, or are, for that matter. But I believe in you, and I like you the way you are."

_Why?_ he wondered.

She didn't seem to notice his confusion. "I don't know what you think of me, Severus, but I hope it won't be affected by what I've let slip here. But, as I will also be working with the Or ... er, for Professor Dumbledore after graduation, I hope that we can be friends. Eventually."

He thought about it. How many girls would have put this differently, said something designed to seduce, or to drive him away? He still didn't understand it; he was the greasy bat of the dungeons, after all. Still, Severus Snape was a patient man, when the occasion called for it. She just said that she was patient, as well. This question would keep. "Perhaps." She smiled, and he glanced at the clock. "It is after curfew. I will see you to Gryffindor Tower, Miss Granger."

She took her cue from him, shifting into her role as his student again. "Thank you, Professor."

They walked the staircases in silence, a respectful distance from each other. She couldn't stop looking at the book as they walked. They were passing the first floor entrance to the library when he noticed that he didn't hear her footsteps any more. Severus turned and saw that she stood still, several feet behind him. "Miss Granger?"

She looked at him with wide eyes. "I … sir, I can't take this."

He retraced his steps and saw what she was looking at. The inside cover had four names scrawled on it in four different hands:

Jolie E. Prewitt

Diana Bernice Black

Morgana Yseult Snape

Severus Jason Snape

"It belongs in your family," Hermione protested.

Damned Gryffindor pride. He chose his words carefully. "I have another copy of _Jane Eyre_. My aunt Morgana received this from her mother," he said, pointing to the appropriate names, "and she from hers." He closed the book and curled Hermione's fingers around the cover. His gaze bored into her own, adding weight to his next declaration. "This book truly belongs in an appreciative and intelligent woman's hands, Miss Granger. I am confident that you will value and take care of it in a way that I have not."

Hermione was rendered speechless. She seemed to be quite touched by the gesture, and her eyes said what she couldn't say out loud. Severus gestured to the stairs, and they resumed their trek in silence.

A murmured good night, another exchange of thanks, another handshake under the Fat Lady's disbelieving gaze, and Miss Granger slipped into her common room. He returned to the dungeons, closed the door to his quarters, and smiled.

He had someone to fight for now.

XxXxXxXxX

Author's notes:

Thanks, everyone; it's been fun. I'm working on a sequel, but I don't know where the story is taking me yet, so it isn't near finished.

Harry and Co. are not mine, though I'd loooooove to borrow Severus or Remus for an hour or three in the Room of Requirement. But they belong to Jo the Great. I am not making a single Galleon, Sickle, or Knut off this story.

Many thanks to Janinka, Emily X, and Lis for their help at various stages of writing.

I wish I'd thought of using the term "Cowardly Lion" for a certain Gryffindor who hates to fly, but I didn't. I don't remember whose fanfic I read it in, but it was not my idea.

The "world's only living heart donor" line is from _Sabrina_, the Harrison Ford version.

The hug was inspired by the picture of Severus and Hermione that used to be on the WIKTT Yahoo group's main page. Kudos and gratitude to the brilliant artist who created it, Maja Anderssen.

And, of course, the song lyrics are from _Hero_, sung by David Crosby© 1991 Hidden Pun Music Inc. / Stay Straight Music (BMI). I improvised on the punctuation. It isn't the tightest fit between song lyrics and fanfic, but that's because I was halfway through the writing when I thought, _Hey, the song would fit!_

**And, to my lovely reviewers:** Thanks so much for your feedback! I do appreciate it. If I can ferret out your e-mail addresses from your profiles, then I'll respond to any comments you have on this final chapter that way. Otherwise, if you choose to review chapter six, thanks in advance for taking the time and effort!

**azulkan2:** Sorry it took so long. Here you go, hope it satisfies!

**AngelApple70x7: **Yeah, this final chapter went on for eight pages on my computer. Things just go as they flow, and the dénouement just had to be this long.

**duj:** I've never made a good decision at three o'clock in the morning. In this case, Hermione didn't either. Hope this chapter clears things up. She is nineteen, after all her use of the Time-Turner, so she is of age, but as she is still a student, Snape knows better. The summary, if you recall, reads "Pre-HG/SS." No suck-face yet. Wink Yet.

**sLyThErIn ApPLe:** Hope detention was to your liking! I guess I'm a Slytherin at heart; Hermione made a possibly disastrous decision, and needed to be chastised for it, but as she did him a kindness … well … I like to think that Snape occasionally has a sense of justice.

**Gwen Drailemac:** Thank you! This is the last chapter, but like I said, one of my betas demanded a sequel, so I'm a-workin' on that. And thanks for the compliment about the Latin; I don't know the language, but I figured I couldn't go too wrong with three- and four-word phrases.

**strega-in-progress:** Dumbledore is headmaster of a school with hundreds of hormonal teenagers. He needs to do what he can to prevent student-teacher liaisons.

**BloodyNails:** Thanks for the review!


End file.
